


That Time of Year

by cells55



Category: The Mindy Project
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cells55/pseuds/cells55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But I'll get you eventually, Castellano! I always do."<br/>Multi-chapter fic, starting pre-show, that looks at special occasions over the years. For my lovely Calliope_Soars, who long asked for more fic; I hope this isn't a major disappointment. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Independence Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calliope_Soars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliope_Soars/gifts).



 "I have an announcement to make."

 Her voice, unmistakable even after only working here for three days - three of the longest days of his life, maybe - cut through the general chatter of the office. Even Shauna stopped talking, and that was almost unheard of. Of course, Danny made it a point not to listen to announcements from anyone other than Dr Schulman, the Pope or his mother. That rule hadn't hurt him any so far in life.

 "As the newly appointed social secretary for this practice," Lahiri piped up again, "I am thrilled to announce the sickest, most exciting night of your lives, in celebration of that most American of holidays, July 4th."

 "I don't know, I have quite an exciting night-life as it is," Reed leaned on the desk next to Danny. The scent of his cologne was enough to make his stomach turn; the guy smelt like he wore half a bottle every day. "Also, should I really be made to celebrate your country's independence from my own?"

 "There'll be alcohol," she replied. "And a patriotic cake."

 "I'm in."

 Finally, he looked up. "Who appointed you?"

 A frown flashed across her face, confused and distracted from what she would probably rather be talking about. "Excuse me?"

 "Who appointed you social secretary?" he pressed. "We were doing just fine without one."

 "Self-appointed," she retorted calmly. "And you weren't _fine_. Betsy said the last time you all got together was at Christmas!" Her eyes widened dramatically. "In _December_!"

 "That is typically when Christmas occurs," he passed a file to Shauna. "What's the big deal?"

 "The big deal is - is - camaraderie!" she exclaimed, waving her hand for emphasis. "Emotional connections! Team-building!"

 "It sounds more like alcohol poisoning and diabetic comas."

 Her frown deepened. "Are you always this much of a buzzkill, Dr Castellano?"

 "Yep," was Beverley's input.

 "You call it buzzkill, I call it...pragmatism." He headed back to his office. "We don't need a party."

 Normally, that would've been that; if someone had tried to organise an event even _four_ days ago, Danny would've been able to shoot it down with ease. He knew they respected his professionalism, his calm and measured approach.

 Or, they did. Because fifteen minutes later, he received an e-vite entitled "KICK-ASS 4TH OF JULY SOIREE: AMERICA, HECK YEAH!".

 He suspected this was just the top of a steep, slippery slope.

 ***

 It was, in many ways, his worst nightmare come to life in overwhelming technicolour. The main office area had been decorated with exuberant enthusiasm by Betsy and Shauna, and now resembled something that the American flag had thrown up on. Red, white and blue were everywhere, including on the "mandatory fun hats" that Lahiri had insisted everyone wear. His stayed on for approximately three minutes.

 "Daniel," Schulman approached him with a smile that betrayed the red and blue shots he'd just been doing. "Don't hide yourself away in the corner. Come eat cake with your people."

 "They're not - " he stopped himself just in time, and shook his head. "We're colleagues. Isn't that enough?"

 "It's good to appreciate the people around you, Daniel," the older man intoned wisely. "You don't know how long you'll have them for."

 Danny shot an irritated glance in Lahiri's direction; she was dancing with the enthusiasm of a six-year-old, decked out in a glittery blue skirt, red top and matching lipstick. Not that she needed an excuse to wear glitter any day of the week, as far as he could tell - so far she'd been coming to work dressed like a freaking rainbow. "Well, cross fingers it's not too long."

 "Now, now," Schulman raised his eyebrows. "Mindy is an excellent addition to our team here. Don't be a sourpuss about it."

 "She's just so ... _much_ ," he sighed.

 "Well, maybe you two'll balance each other out," Schulman offered. "Yin and yang."

 "Or I'll be driven to insanity and jump off the Queensboro bridge."

 "There you go," he patted Danny's shoulder. "Think positively."

 ***

 The music had transitioned from some chick he didn't recognise, singing about freedom, to Bruce Springsteen, and that just about made up for the fact that he was still at his office, surrounded by his co-workers, when he really didn't need to be.

 He was battling with an over-large slice of cake, and so didn't see her sidle up next to him. "Having fun?"

 He glanced her way, not sure why he was on edge already. Something about her set his teeth, made his blood pump a little faster; always had, even during residency. He'd thought he was rid of her for good back then, but apparently his luck wasn't that strong. "Oh, yeah. Tonnes."

 "You might actually enjoy yourself if you stepped away from your good friend, The Wall," she patted it close to his head. "Dance, have a drink. You know, be a human being."

 "I can be a perfectly decent human being right here, thank you."

 She frowned, a mixture of exasperation and hurt. "What is your problem with me?"

 "Problem?" he repeated disdainfully. "Get over yourself, sweetheart. You're barely on my radar."

 She was quiet for a long moment, but he didn't look up from his cake-covered fingers to see the exact look on her face. "Alright then. Be like that," she replied, a certain forced brightness to her voice. "But I'll get you eventually, Castellano! I always do." She swiped some frosting from his plate, and headed off in a cloud of perfume and glitter, calling over her shoulder, "You'll be my friend before you know it!"

 He watched her go, muttering, "not if I have anything to do with it..."

 ***

 The night ended for him when he'd finally succumbed to two shots, mainly to get Shauna to stop pestering him, and when he saw a glittery figure drag Reed in to her office. He watched the closed door for a long moment, set down his shot glass, and pushed himself off the desk chair - hard to do when it was a rolling one. "I'm out."

 "Aww, Dr C, you were just loosening up!" Shauna whined.

 "It's getting late. Got the big holiday weekend to prepare for," he shrugged on his jacket. "See you Monday."

 As he walked away, he heard Betsy say, in her sweet, clear little voice, "I can't believe we got him to stay this long!"

 He didn't intend to make a habit of it.


	2. Labor Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Labor Day, and the new social secretary shows no signs of letting up.

_Ch-ch-ch-check it out!_  
 _Celebrate Labor Day with your Schulman and Associate pals! Get ready for your three-day weekend with the people who totally know all about labor (although technically it's a different kind, lol!). Booze and cake provided._  
 _Dress code: all-white, while you can!*_  
  
 _Your Social Secretary xx_  
  
 _*Dr Lahiri will pinch anyone who tries to hold her to that ridiculous "no white after Labor Day" rule, btw._  
  
And scrawled at the bottom of the print out, in unmistakable curled handwriting: _"Attendance is mandatory, Dr Castellano. Mandatory but fun! Fundatory!!" _

_*****_

 

He slapped it down on the counter. "I mean, look at it. She put it up in the break room!" 

Richie cast a brief glance down at the white sheet of paper. "I like the swirly patterns round the edges." 

"That's - I'm not trying to, to debate the artistic merits, here," Danny shook his head. "We just had a party, for the 4th - " 

"'Just'?" Richie took a swig of beer. "That was ages ago." 

" -  and then a 'mocktails mixer' for, I shit you not, _International Forgiveness Day_." His tone could have stripped paint. "There were fourteen different types of juice, Rich. _Fourteen_. What, orange isn't enough for you?" 

"Well, it sounds like this Dr Lahiri is doing a great job of getting people to be more social at work," his brother said, trying and failing to hold back a smirk. 

"We didn't need it. Nobody asked for it." Danny moved to check on the food in his new pizza oven; his pride and joy, basically. "It's ridiculous, it's distracting." 

"Labor Day party sounds kinda fun," Richie offered, looking at the flyer again. "Everyone likes cake, right?" 

"That's not the point," he rolled his eyes. "See that little dig at the bottom, too? Names and shames me on the damn flyer so now I don't have any choice but to go to the damn thing." 

Richie leaned against the counter comfortably. "It doesn't seem like a dig, Dan. This is just how some people...reach out." 

"Yeah, well, I don't need reaching." 

"A little fun wouldn't hurt, you know," Richie said, pausing tentatively. "Especially now everything's signed - " 

Danny shot him a look. "Hey, that's got nothing to do with - " 

"I'm just saying," he interrupted. "It's been...rough. Let yourself be distracted by a party with a dress code. You might actually enjoy yourself." 

Danny paused, struck. "Is that why you're visiting? Ma told you I'm moping or something, because my divorce finally came through?" 

Richie's expression was indecipherable; damn, his kid brother was probably an amazing poker player. "I told you, ma wanted to see me, and I've had these plans with Joe and Luke from school on the books for a while." 

"Uh huh." He turned back to the pizza oven, frustration bubbling closer to the surface. He was damned if he was gonna let it overflow now, after coasting through the week from hell as if nothing was different. "Convenient." 

A silence hung between them for a minute or so. 

"You know," Richie spoke up again, an oddly measured tone to his voice, "you've spoken about Dr Lahiri on every phone call since she started at the practice. I land at LaGuardia and we're barely past baggage claim before you start ranting about her."

With a frown, Danny met his brother's calm gaze. "What's your point, Rich?" 

"Just sayin'...this woman seems to be occupying a lot of your thoughts at the moment." 

Danny made a sound somewhere between a snort and a guffaw. "Okay, man. Someone's had one too many beers." 

Richie let it lie, and picked up the beer bottle to peer at it. "Oh, yeah, by the way, does it actually say 'Dr Dan's Hearty Ale' on this bottle, or am I hallucinating?" 

Danny couldn't help his proud grin. "I started home brewing. This is my first batch - it's a work in progress - but, not bad, huh?" 

Richie set the bottle back down, with a matching grin of his own. "Not bad." A pause. "You should take some to your Labor Day party."

 

_***_

 

After a long day at the hospital - twins delivery, which went smoothly - Danny just wanted to go home. But no; there was now an outside force which wanted to suck the joy from his life. He knew there was no way in hell he would get away with skipping out on this party. 

He arrived to find the party in full swing; everyone was wearing white, like a friggin' toothpaste commercial or something, and it was obvious that drinks had already made the rounds. He could make a quiet entrance, though, because the staff were gathered around a cake shaped like a pregnant belly. In neat, red cursive frosting on the top, it said: "I'm going into labor...day, with Schulman and Associates!" 

Danny let out a quiet groan, a cry from the depths of his soul. 

"Well," Jeremy said, because someone had to say something, "everyone likes a good play on words." 

"It's funny!" Mindy insisted brightly. "Shut up and eat it, okay?" 

Schulman happily started carving it up, and Danny stepped back to let someone near the drinks - unfortunately, that movement was all it took to catch Lahiri's attention. "You're here!" 

"Well observed," Danny replied, glancing back at the cake again. "Leaning in to the theme, huh?" 

Mindy shrugged with a smile, smoothing down her blisteringly-white tunic dress. "A theme helps hold a party together, Danny."

"You do understand what this holiday is actually for, right?" he checked.

"Of course I do." She paused, taking in his appearance, and her smile slipped to a look of disapproval. "You're not wearing white." 

"Wow, you're 2 for 2." 

"It said white on the dress code, Danny!" 

He rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't have some huge wardrobe full of - I dunno, costume party stuff or whatever." 

"Yeah, that much is clear," she replied. "You have, what, a navy shirt, black pants, black jeans? I swear to God, Danny, I don't know what's sadder: that you might be wearing the same outfit every day without washing it, or that you might own duplicates of the same outfit." 

"Well, when I want your fashion advice, I'll be sure to ask for it," he told her plainly. 

"Oh, don't worry," she smiled again, a sweet smile he was surprised to see reached her eyes. Weren't they fighting? Why was she so relaxed? "I don't need to be asked." 

"Yeah, I've noticed," he muttered. 

She waved his comment away with a flutter of red, manicured nails, and let herself be dragged into a conversation with Shauna and Betsy instead. As if sensing that Danny was finally getting some peace and quiet, Jeremy slid into her spot. 

"Such an accomplished doctor, and a party planner too," the man noted cheerfully, handing Danny a glass of something fizzing that smelled like apples. "We are truly lucky men." 

Danny shot him a look. "I guess you would know more about that than me, buddy." 

Jeremy just smirked, which was incredibly annoying. "A gentleman never tells, Danny." He tore his gaze away from their colleague in order to study Danny's face. "She's really not that bad, you know. You don't need to be so hard on her." 

"I'm not hard on anyone," Danny replied, a touch defensively. "What do I care, you know? She does her job, I do mine." 

"Oh, and - " Jeremy placed his hand patronisingly on Danny's arm, and he could feel it coming now, the pity train. " - I heard about the papers coming through. I'm so sorry, Danny." 

"Yeah, well, you know," he handed the glass back to Jeremy. "It is what it is. Actually, I was just stopping in, you know, show my face, I have - plans, a date, not a big deal, so I gotta run." 

Jeremy didn't look like he remotely believed the words coming from his mouth, but Danny was in it now, in the lie and he had to carry it off. "So have a good long weekend, yeah? Enjoy the rest of the party. Say goodbye to everyone for me." 

He got as far as the lobby before he heard the click-click of heels on the tile, and a breathless Lahiri appeared at his side. "Oh, god - those stairs - geez - " she gasped, grabbing his arm so he had to come to a complete stop. "You're going?" 

Danny shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. Got, you know...plans." For whatever reason he didn't want to investigate, the fight had left him completely. He took in the look on her face; the white ensemble, complete with what looked like white eyeliner, which only served to make her eyes look bigger; the way her small hands had curled round his bicep in what was frankly over-familiar and yet, oddly, comforting. "Sorry. You guys'll have fun, though." He swallowed. "Thanks for...planning it." 

She smiled, almost looking relieved, although he didn't understand why. "Hey, that's why I'm social secretary. It's what I do." 

"Sure. Great job." He paused, then moved his arm slightly so her hand dropped to her side again. "Have a good weekend, Mindy." 

The smile strengthened. "Thanks. You too." 

It took him all the way to the subway to shake off the odd feeling that lingered somewhere high in his chest. Maybe he was coming down with something.


	3. Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Switching to Mindy's POV: it's Thanksgiving night, and two people don't have plans.

Mindy paused, frowning slightly to try and piece together the scene before her. It was possible she was so tired she was at the point of vivid hallucinations - a simple labor had turned into a very long surgery - but she didn't think she was imagining this. She pinched her forearm just in case; yep, this was real. Ouch.

 The sound of what was unmistakably the power ballad Always by Bon Jovi - she'd always had a crush on him, she had eyes and a soul, after all - filled the air, accompanied by some impassioned singing from a decidedly non-Bon Jovi voice. Although she'd never heard him sing before, she knew exactly who it would be before she reached the conference room window.

 Daniel Castellano was surrounded by takeout boxes and patient files, and looked to be having the time of his life. In fact, he seemed like he was having more fun than he had had at all of her social-secretary-get-togethers combined. It was both incredibly endearing and sad in equal measure. She knew she should announce herself before he embarrassed himself anymore, although it was tempting to let him continue. Maybe he'd bust out some air guitar next.

 "Hey."

 Danny flinched as though shot, clutching his hand to his chest like a swooning old lady. "Oh - shit - Mindy, you scared - you can't just sneak up on a guy!"

"Sorry," she offered a tentative smile. "I didn't think anyone else would be here."

 He settled in his chair again, swallowing awkwardly. When everyone had been sharing their Turkey Day plans yesterday in the break room, he'd said he was spending the day with family. "Oh, well, my plans fell through...you know how it is." He paused, studying her with some concern. She was unused to seeing that emotion on his face. "I thought you were going to your friend's place."

 "I was. Her kid is sick, though." Mindy smiled as if she didn't mind in the slightest. "So I was covering Dr Schulman's call, and once I finished at the hospital I thought I'd get some things done."

 "Oh." There was a long pause; she could almost see the inner turmoil as he battled with what he knew he would have to say next. "Well, sit down. Help yourself to Chinese food." He frowned, then added, "it's all noodles, none of your fancy seaweed nonsense."

 "It smells great." She sank gladly into the chair opposite his, grabbing a carton and digging in. "I only had a vending machine lunch. Twizzlers and potato chips."

 "Healthy."

 "But tasty." She twirled some noodles round her fork, and finally noticed the music had stopped. "I didn't have you pegged for a Bon Jovi fan, Danny. You're totally fascinating."

 "No I'm not," he batted it away. "And anyone with ears is a Bon Jovi fan. It's not a big deal."

 She watched him a moment. "Why do you think everything I say is an insult?"

 He sighed heavily, reaching for another carton. "I don't. You're paranoid, sweetheart."

 "And whenever you're getting angry, you call me 'sweetheart'," she added thoughtfully. "What's that about?" She smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. "Let's unravel Danny Castellano. We've got time."

 "Alright, enough," he shot her a look. "Didn't you have other friends to spend Thanksgiving with?"

 "Most of them are out of town," she shrugged. "Or with family."

 There was a short, loaded pause before his next question. "Well, what about your British cheeseball companion? You could've taught him all about the new world."

 She focused on digging out a strip of carrot from the bottom of her carton. "He's busy. He...had a date."

 He watched her for a moment before looking away. Neither of them were particularly keen for that level of intimacy. "Too bad."

 "What about your wife?" she asked next, finally glancing up. "I haven't seen her around in a while."

 "That's probably got something to do with the fact that we got divorced," Danny replied calmly. He took a swig from a nearby beer; she tried, and failed, to read his expression. "It happens."

 "Oh, god. I'm...I'm sorry," she offered. "Shit, I'd be such a mess if it was me."

 He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, well, that's - "

 "Okay, you don't need to say it," she interrupted. "I'm just saying, you're totally cool. Aren't you...sad?"

 "Sad? No," he dismissed it as if it were nothing. "Sad would be a wasted emotion on a cheating bitch like Christina."

 The pause that followed was heavy, too many conflicting emotions passing between them. Mindy hadn't expected her colleague to be this forthcoming - he'd been so reluctant even to tell her when his _birthday_ was. This was a whole other level. "That's awful," she said at last, and her voice was soft, just about cutting through the quiet. "I'm sorry."

 He shrugged it off, not meeting her gaze. "It's done with."

 She paused again, then finally looked down at the pile of folders in front of her. "You want a hand with these files?"

 With a short nod, he rolled a pen across the table to her. "Thanks."

 *****

 Around nine, they called it a night - any later, and it would have been truly depressing, even by Mindy's standards. They hadn't talked much once they had started working, although there was something kinda... _nice_ , in the quiet, with this strange, quiet, mysterious man. A broken marriage; something else to add to the very short list of things she knew about him.

 They hesitated at the door, buttoning up coats and tightening scarves; then, almost reluctantly, he held open the door, and as she passed through, let his hand hover just at the small of her back. It was the kind of gesture that both calmed and confused her.

 "So...goodnight," he said, his hand dropping to shove back in to his coat pocket. "Happy Thanksgiving."

 She gave him a small smile. "Happy Thanksgiving."

 And as he walked away, she considered that there were worse ways to spend a holiday.


	4. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elevator breaks down, and Mindy finds out some interesting information...

The elevator came to a stop somewhere between the first and second floor. 

Naturally, his first reaction was to jab at all the buttons with impunity. She could see his shoulders tighten even under the weight of his jacket. Then, as if he really thought it would work, he slammed his fist against the panel. 

Nothing happened. 

"Oh, god, I don't want this to be like that Keanu Reeves movie," she sighed, stepping forward to press the emergency button again - you know, just in case. "Isn't this supposed to sound the alarm or something? Why is nothing happening?" 

Danny finally, reluctantly, looked over at her. He'd ignored her on the subway, jammed his hands in his pockets for the brisk walk to the office, and hadn't even met her gaze when she made it to the elevator just as the doors were closing. She had no clue what his problem was, but it wasn't like this sort of behaviour wasn't normal for him, so she was doing her best not to let it phase her. 

"Maybe there's a problem in the board behind the panel," he said, sounding more calm than he looked. "Or maybe it never worked. Maybe it's actually just a sticker." 

"That's very helpful, thank you, Danny." She checked her phone. "No signal. This is the modern age, people, how hard can it be to get decent coverage?" 

He shrugged. Great, the silent treatment again. 

It was becoming exhausting, really. They were slowly, slowly bonding - nothing that he would ever admit to, but she knew friendship-brewing when she saw it, and she was living it with this Italian grump. But in between the sweet moments where he let his guard down, it was like she was banging her head against a brick wall. A handsome brick wall, yes, but stony and unyielding nonetheless. 

And, yeah, maybe the stony-ness hadn't been helped by their little wager about his unlamplike feelings, but it wasn't her fault that he was a sore loser. Or that she was so lovable. Why did he have to make everything so awkward? 

With a heavy sigh, she started to peel off her coat - a move that garnered a startled look from Danny, probably flashing back to seeing her naked not two weeks ago - and draped it on to the floor. "Might as well get comfortable, right?" 

He held out a hand to help her lower herself to the floor with dignity, a move that was clearly ingrained. He stood, towering over her for a few moments, which presented her with the options of either staring at the elevator wall or staring at his upper thigh. Luckily, before she had to really dig deep to make that decision, he slumped down on to the floor next to her. "I guess so. Who knows how long we'll be in here..." 

He had made a special effort not to sit right next to her, but in doing so had landed at kind of a weird angle, which meant his feet were brushing hers. She studied the contrast of canary-yellow pumps against staid brown loafers thoughtfully. "People have super life-defining moments in elevators, you know." 

She didn't need to look up at his face to know he was arching an eyebrow. "Is that right..." 

"Totally. Just look at You've Got Mail. Joe decides that - " she stopped,  a hand clutched to her chest. "Oof, spoilers. Have you seen it?" 

He rolled his eyes. "You don't need to worry about 'spoiling' some chick flick for me, Mindy. I'm never gonna watch some bozo read his email for two hours." 

"That 'bozo' is Tom Hanks, and he is a national treasure," she informed him archly. "Plus, way to over simplify the plot of one of the top five greatest romantic comedies of all time." 

"Please, _please_ , do not tell me the other four." 

"Well geez, Danny, I'm sorry they're not Academy award-winning melodramas about women who want to kill themselves," she retorted. 

"I don't even know if that's a reference." 

"It's - never mind," she shook her head. "Just don't ever let me hear you call Hanks a bozo again, or you'll find yourself with a limp." 

He smirked. "Okay." 

She pointedly looked away, turning her attention to the contents of her purse. Ever since high school, she'd packed for any possibility. It was kind of annoying to have to keep hauling all her crap between her many different purses, but it was a small sacrifice to make for a completed ensemble. And it meant that she always had an up-to-date inventory in her brain. She knew exactly what she was looking for; she just had to pick out all sorts of other nonsense first. 

First, a leather glove came out, followed by a pen, half a pack of gum, a flyer for a free croissant, and two lipsticks, all laid neatly on the elevator floor. As she peeled an old tissue out of her purse and ditched it on the pile, she heard him let out a huffed breath. "What have you got in there, anyway? You're like Mary Poppins." 

"I'm too young for that reference," she replied lightly. "And I've got exactly what I need in here." Triumphantly, she presented her bounty - four candy bars, a little battered from being squashed at the bottom of her purse, but still edible. "You never know when you might need a sugar boost." 

He looked as if he was torn between being impressed and derisive. "I guess not. And quite the variety, too." 

"You want one?" 

"It's not even 9am, Mindy." 

"So?" she rolled her eyes. "We could be trapped here for days, Danny. This could be our only sustenance. It's not like _you_ have anything to contribute to survival." 

He plucked the 3 Musketeers bar out of her hand. "Okay, okay. If it'll shut you up." 

"How dare you," she replied, if a little half-heartedly. "I'm keeping you alive here with my own stash, and you speak about me in this way? Rude." 

All that followed was the crinkling of the wrapper, and the slight click of his jaw as he chewed. It figured that he would be a noisy eater. Looking at the options left to her, she decided on the Snickers and tossed the rest back in her purse. 

As they chewed in amiable silence, she let her gaze stray around the small space. Good thing she wasn't claustrophobic; Rishi used to freak out whenever they went in elevators as kids. It got to the point where they always had to take the stairs. Ugh, the sacrifices she'd made for that guy. 

In the small space, she could easily sense a gaze lingering on her - not exactly rocket science to figure out who it was. She didn't look over, though. Things were complicated enough without analysing whatever she might see there. 

Crumpling the wrapper in her hand, she let out an audible sigh. "Why is it that everything bad for us tastes so good?" 

"Chemicals," was his instant reply. "Maybe you should carry fruit around in your purse instead." 

"And what, find rotten, smushed-up apples in my Birkin every month? Gross." 

"Well, they won't rot if you _eat_ them." 

"Whatever," she waved a dismissive hand, finally looking over at him. A pause. "Hey, did you get a haircut?" 

"What?" he reached to pat the top of his head, like he'd forgotten he had hair at all. "Oh, yeah. Last night." 

"What's the big occasion?" she asked lightly. "I thought haircuts were for special days, like the Pope being in town or Derek Jeter scoring a goal or something." 

She could almost see his blood pressure rising. "Jeter doesn't score _goals_ , Mindy, he's one of the greatest shortstops in - look," he paused to draw a calming breath. "Whatever. No big occasion. I'm just...going to visit my mom later." 

"Aww," she beamed. "That is adorable, Danny. You got a haircut to please your mom? Did you make sure to clean behind your ears, too?" 

He sighed. "Grown men aren't adorable." 

"Sure they are, and don't change the subject," she reached over to pinch his cheek; he jerked back as if she had slapped him, a scowl on his handsome features. "I thought you just went to see your mom on Sundays." 

He gave her an appraising look. "Huh." 

She felt suddenly, strangely self-conscious. "What?" 

"Nothing. I just didn't think you listened when I told you that stuff." 

A frown flitted across her face. "Of course I listen. I've got excellent manners, thank you very much." 

He shrugged it off. "Sorry." 

"So it's not Sunday," she pointed out, ignoring the eye roll that was given as a reply. "It must be a special occasion. You don't just go out to Staten Island on a Wednesday for no reason." 

"I could, if I wanted to," he started to argue. 

"You're a man of order and routine, Dr Castellano," she interrupted brightly. "No, you don't just deviate - " She stopped, and her smile dropped. "Is it your birthday? Did you give the social secretary a fake birthday to throw her off the scent and actually it's today, you sneaky little bastard?" 

He fended off her half-hearted punches, holding up his hands in surrender. "Mindy, relax. It is not my birthday today," he replied. "And you shouldn't refer to yourself in the third person, it's unnecessary and creepy." 

"You're not going to distract me from my cause," she vowed, giving his bicep a poke. "You're hiding your birthday from me and I think that's totally messed up." 

His gaze lifted to the heavens, and for a moment he didn't say anything. She thought she may have actually cracked him; he was going to confess to lying and let her plan a totally banging birthday party. She was already formulating a colour scheme when he spoke again. 

"It's not my birthday. It's...my wedding anniversary." 

For a moment, she felt like the air had been snatched from the room; the look on his face didn't help that feeling one bit. He finally looked over at her, and struggled to reform his expression. 

"It's really not a big deal, Mindy." His voice had taken on the slightest of edges; a couple of months ago, she wouldn't have caught it, but for whatever reason she'd started tuning in to the cracks in his armour. She wanted to take his hand, to give him a hug, but she knew there was no way he was letting her near enough to do that. Not physically, not emotionally. "My mom just thinks it's...a trigger day, or something. She worries, so I go over, she cooks dinner and tells me about the cute girl she saw at the bakery or the pharmacy or the hair salon that I should date, and then she feels better." 

"Do _you_ feel better?" 

He scrunched up his nose. "I don't need to feel better. That's not the point. _I'm_ fine." 

She raised an eyebrow. "No word has less meaning than 'fine'," she told him, before adding thoughtfully, "except when used to describe Chris Hemsworth." 

"I don't know who that is." 

"I am not at all surprised." 

He shifted his weight slightly, resting his head against the elevator wall behind him. His foot brushed hers again in the movement. "In this case, 'fine' means...fine." 

"Said with great eloquence, Dr Castellano," she smirked. "This day really doesn't bother you?" 

He flicked his candy wrapper in her direction. "I can't give that kind of power to a day. That's ridiculous," he said, his gaze finding a blank spot ahead of him. "I can't let 24 hours out of a whole year wreck me." 

"Well, you _can_ , and that would be understandable - " 

"I don't need psychoanalysing, Mindy," he interrupted, and it was like the shutters had gone down. "Thank you for your interest, but really, I'm okay. I'm not some broken guy who needs fixing." 

It was exhausting, this, here, with him - constantly moving in and out of the shade, catching a few moments of sunshine before the clouds descended again. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered, but she knew that that was a question she didn't want to delve too deep into right now. "Of course. Sorry for prying." 

He glanced over at her, as if surprised that she'd given up so easily. "You weren't. It's fine." 

She offered him a small smile, feeling oddly nervous. "Okay." 

"Okay," he echoed, and she thought for a moment that she could hear the same nerves in his voice, too. He shifted again, straightened, took a steeling breath. "Look, why don't you - " 

But the rest of that question was lost in the clunking of the elevator coming back to life, suddenly resuming its journey up to their floor as if nothing had ever happened. They hadn't even had the chance to stand up before the doors pinged open, and they were greeted with the sight of Jeremy's shins. 

"Good grief, people, was the journey up three floors really so arduous that you had to sit down?" Jeremy asked. "You need to get a grip on yourselves, you really do." 

Danny helped her off the floor, idly brushing some dust from her back before he ducked out and down the hallway. Mindy stepped off the elevator, a little dazed, watching him go. 

"Well, onwards I go," Jeremy spoke up again, clearly unused to having so little attention directed his way. "That c-section won't c-section itself." 

The doors were already closing before she thought to turn and say, "wait - " 

Too late. The doors shut, and moments later, the tell-tale buzz of the elevators stopped again. 

Normally, she would've been bummed not to be trapped in an enclosed space with Dr Reed. But right now...she was surprised to find that she didn't mind. At all. 

Huh. 


	5. A Palate Cleanser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Danny's birthday, and things get a little drunken.

There was nowhere to hide.

It was one of those new-fangled bars where the ceilings were too high, the walls looked like they'd been plastered in the dark, and there didn't seem to be any hidden corners in which to avoid your colleagues. It was busy, but not busy enough - probably because he had insisted on going out at seven thirty, or what Mindy called 'grandpa time'.

"The place won't be interesting until at least ten thirty," she'd argued. He'd simply replied that he intended to be home and on to stage three of his night-time rituals by then, which earned him a melodramatic eye roll. But, for once, the decision was ultimately down to him. It was _his_ birthday, after all.

He normally made a point not to celebrate his birthdays, not being under the age of ten anymore or a fan of sheet cake. Snacks should never be celebratory, and if they are, they should be purely protein based. But, buzzing after Rishi's rap battle and in need of a new project, Mindy had swooped in. She'd even somehow got hold of a copy of his birth certificate to check the date was accurate - he had no idea how she'd managed it, or indeed why she was so suspicious of him lying to her about _this_ of all things. But once she had sunk her red manicured nails in to it, there was really no way he could avoid a celebration of some kind.

So here he was, in the bar that God forgot, surrounded by drunk idiots, many of whom he happened to work with. Jeremy was intently seducing a bored-looking blonde, his arm draped loosely around the back of her chair so he could lean even closer. Morgan and Betsy were having what looked like a very emotional discussion in a booth - "I just want you to be _happy_ , you know??" Morgan's voice travelled briefly above the din of shitty dance music - a discussion which Danny had no interest of joining. And Mindy...

Mindy was surrounded by a group of guys at the bar, clearly having the time of her life. The eight shots of tequila she'd thrown back neatly upon arrival gave her a rosy glow, probably aided by the supply of martinis her admirers kept flowing. She was wearing another one of her crazy dresses, this one some complicated feat of engineering which played up her figure - not that he was looking, of course. But a guy would have to be blind, or dead, to ignore curves like that, and he was neither. He was only human. And, okay, a little drunk, too.

He had to turn away, then; that was not why he was there. He was there to have a few beers, show his face to his co-workers and make it home in time to watch some Tivo before bed. An orderly night. Not whatever drunken mess this was turning into.

"Oh, man..." Her hand on his bicep almost made him jump, and he swivelled round quickly to find Mindy a lot closer than she had been only a minute ago. Shit, was she able to read his thoughts? He really, truly hoped not. They'd only just got past the whole breast exam mess of awkwardness and that was several months ago - they didn't need her reading his inappropriate thoughts, too. "I didn't expect you to choose this place, Danny, but I'm glad you did."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing behind her at the gaggle of - let's face it - handsome guys. "Yeah? Pick yourself up a harem of dudes for the night?"

She giggled, swooning a little closer, and he realised in that moment just how drunk she was. It was oddly endearing. "Them? They're gay." She narrowed her eyes at him, as if trying to fully focus on his face. "You know this is a gay bar, right?"

Danny glanced around, taking everything in with new eyes. Right. A lot of things made sense now. In fact, it had been Richie who had suggested the venue over the phone last weekend, so he shouldn't be too surprised, really. That kid thought he was _hilarious_. "Oh...yeah. Of course."

"I thought it was an unusually liberal choice for you," she gestured to the barman for another drink, and hauled herself - a little gracelessly - up on to the stool next to him. "That's adorable."

"No it's not," he frowned. "I'm not - I'm not some buttoned-up conservative type, you know."

She let her gaze drag down him; for a minute he felt like he was under some kind of weird, sexual spotlight. He almost blushed. "Oh, I know you're not," she replied. "I remember your dance moves from our club night. You're wild when you want to be."

He laughed a little, awkwardly, trying to find a way out of this conversation. Drunk flirting was normally a pastime of his, but this was different. He didn't feel quite drunk enough, and yet not sober enough to figure out what was actually happening. "If you say so."

"I do," she went to pat his shoulder, landing instead on his chest, and it felt like her fingertips were burning through the fabric. "Geez. Work out much?"

"Oh, um. Thanks." She had already finished her drink and signalled for another before he thought of what to say next. "So you got big date plans for the weekend?"

Something flashed across her face, then, a mixture of sadness and anger. "Not really. Still raw from the whole...being a secret mistress thing." Her fresh martini went down in one; he watched as a bead of condensation slipped down the glass and along her slender fingers. "Gwen says I should just bang it out, you know, a palate cleanser - but I haven't landed on someone who doesn't make me furious at the male gender yet."

That was a lot of information for his tipsy brain to compute, and a large part of it wanted to linger on the idea of a palate cleanser - a sure sign that he had drunk too much and it was time to go home. That message hadn't reached his mouth yet, though. "Oh, come on, we're not _all_  bad..."

She looked back over at him and her expression softened; she gave him a smile that reached her eyes. "No. _You're_ okay, Danny."

He chuckled, and redirected his gaze to the cool metal surface of the bar beneath his hand. "A glowing report from you, Lahiri."

"Ugh." She slipped off her stool, almost standing on his toes in her ridiculous black stilettos. "I've had way too many drinks, Danny. I think I'm..." She leaned even closer, her breath tickling his neck. "... _drunk_."

He stilled for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Why don't we get you home," he suggested, trying to be gallant. "That way your whole weekend won't be a write-off."

"Probably smart," she agreed reluctantly, tracing her fingers down the length of his arm before grasping his hand. Apparently alcohol made her tactile. "You don't mind being dragged away from your own birthday party to walk your miscreant colleague home?"

"Of course not," he insisted. It felt strange, and strangely good, to have her hand in his. "Gotta make sure you're safe."

"That's why you're the best, Castellano," she pinched his cheek with her free hand, and turned abruptly, dragging him towards the exit. "God I need to lie down."

He had thought the cool night air might sober her up a bit, but he was grossly mistaken; it was only a few blocks walk to her place, but she managed to make it seem like dozens by intently recapping the plot of the first Hunger Games movie for him.

"And then Katniss is like, you kill _me_ , but Peeta says no way in hell, lady - " She looked up at her front stoop as if she'd never truly seen it before. "Oh. Shit. Well, that was basically the end, anyway."

He jammed his hands in his pockets, suddenly uncomfortable. "I'll have to check that one out."

"Oh, don't, Danny," she shook her head with an earnest frown, and leaned in close again; her hands gripped the collar of his shirt, and her eyes met his as she whispered, "You would _hate it_."

He didn't move, like when you don't want to spook a small animal. Except he wasn't sure who the person who would get spooked in this scenario was. "Okay," he managed, his voice catching slightly.

Something seemed to cross her mind, and then her lips were on his. The smear of creamy lipstick gave way to the warmth of so much more; he didn't give himself much time to think before his hands were out of his pockets and tangled in her hair. She kissed like she talked - relentlessly, and with insane heat and passion. It was like going a lifetime without oxygen and suddenly taking a breath; he suddenly couldn't get enough.

It was over as quickly as it had started, or at least it felt that way - there was really no way of knowing how long they'd stood there, making out and groping each other like horny teenagers, except that the cold had started to seep in through his shoes, so maybe it had been a while. It didn't feel like long enough, though.

She reared back, wide-eyed and swollen-lipped, and he felt a pang of satisfaction that it was _him_ who had done that to her and not some dickweed lawyer or one of her usual parade of jerks. "Ohhh," she said, profoundly, and smiled. "That was fun."

He wasn't sure how to respond at first. "Oh...yeah," he agreed. Fun wouldn't have been his word - insanely hot, a ridiculous turn-on, far too little for what he really wanted... "Yeah, it was."

"I should go to bed," she decided, and it was both deflating and not at the same time. "But that...was _fun_."

He smiled, and leaned in to dot a chaste kiss to her flushed cheek. "G'night, Lahiri."

"Mm," she grinned, and turned to make her way up the steps. "Good night, birthday boy."

 

_____

 

The next morning, a text arrived:

"Omg Danny! I can't even remember how I got home last night! Please tell me I didn't embarrass myself at your party. Totally going sober now. Happy bday, old man. Mindy x"

And that was the end of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely feedback! I guess this could technically be the last chapter of this fic, but if another idea comes to me, then I'll write it. :)  
> Come find me on tumblr if you fancy it: cesays.tumblr.com


End file.
